


Bare

by forgetmenotjimmy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Public Nudity, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driven to the Boy’s Prefect Bathroom by obnoxious girls Hermione had only wanted a relaxing bath. It wasn’t her fault Ron came in, started doing a tantalising strip-tease and she’d cast a disillusionment spell instinctively…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baths

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know all of the prefects so hence just made up that Lavender and Parvati are, and also this is set in Year Six – so both Ron and Hermione are of age – but without the whole Lavender/Ron storyline. Also, the layout of the Prefect’s bathroom is like the GoF film, with the jacuzzi bath big enough for a few people in it as opposed to single-people baths.

The layout of the Prefect’s bathroom was the same for both sexes; a pool-sized bath in the centre of the room with sinks and benches around the side, with mirrors at shoulder level and a door on the right leading to some showers. She had once wondered why there was only one big bath; though there weren’t that many Prefects it still seemed a bit odd to have communal bathing. Still, the familiar layout made her feel better about slipping into the Boy’s bathroom. In any case, she’d cast a quick spell to check the bathroom was really deserted and as an afterthought cast another spell down the corridor to alert her should anyone approach the door. Walking over to a far corner and tucking her bag under the bench she began taking off her clothes whilst recalling the reason she’d been driven out of the Girl’s Prefect’s Bathroom. Weary and a little bit lonely from an extra-long, solo study session in the library, she had slipped into the bathroom hoping for a bit of peace when she’d been greeted with loud chatter and obnoxious squealing. Damn Lavender and Parvati. They were sitting in front of the vanity tables – the only difference between the two rooms – and so hadn’t seen her but still, she couldn’t stay. She trembled with indignant anger as she recalled those high-pitched, grating voices giggling and gossiping meanly to each other. With their snide comments and sly looks she often wondered why that pair had been made Prefects. Shaking her head and rolling her shoulders in an effort to relax, she turned the taps and added bubbles before slipping out of the rest of her clothes quickly.

She was fairly certain that she wouldn’t be disturbed unless another girl had the same idea as her, between Prefect duty, Quidditch Practice and Detention – Malfoy didn’t learn – the boys were all busy as far as she knew. Stepping in and sinking into the hot water with a small sigh she felt herself finally relax. To be safe she kept her wand on the side, ready to pick up and cast a quick disillusionment spell should the warning spell be activated. Now able to enjoy her bath, she half-groaned at the warmth and comfort she drew from the bubbly water. During her childhood she had loved bath time; it had been one of the only times she could stop thinking, yes, she did actually stop thinking, and just be. The bathroom was at the back of her house looking out on the garden, so if she opened the window and shrank into the bubbles she could hear the gentle sounds of birds and the rustling of the trees. She could lie for hours and just doze peacefully in the water which strangely never grew cold no matter how long she lay in it. A small smile on her lips, she half-closed her eyes and let all of the stresses of the day dissipate, yes, it was bliss. Suddenly she sat up as the tip of her wand lit up. Someone was walking down the corridor. Grabbing her wand and pointing it to herself, ready to cast a disillusionment spell in an instant, she tried to control her breathing; chest heaving and heart thumping harshly with anticipation she licked her lips and watched the door. It opened and she cast the spell under her breath, slumping down further into the bubbles when her furious heart suddenly stopped. Oh God. She’d forgotten he was a prefect.

Ron closed the door tiredly before strolling over to the bench and dumping his bag beside it. How could she have forgotten that he was a prefect? She was there when he’d received his badge and letter! He was her best friend, how hadn’t she considered his whereabouts when she’d conceived this terrible plan? Inwardly cursing, Hermione stifled a gasp and had to stuff her fist in her mouth as she disturbed the water enough for him to look up and glance around the room suspiciously. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, a rare serious expression set on his face as he waited for a moment before turning round again. Hermione forced herself to calm down, she couldn’t afford to be found out; her face went red just thinking about the expression that would be displayed on that face if he saw her. Closing her eyes so she couldn’t see him stripping she tried to think. How could she escape if she’d stupidly left her things across the room, near to where he was? She could wait until he got in the bath and then slip out, collect her things silently then…well, she couldn’t just leave without getting changed, her spell might not last long enough and she just couldn’t fathom being exposed like that in the corridors. Maybe if she cast a muffilato and then changed quickly he wouldn’t notice? Every option was risky, maybe if she just… She couldn’t leave, it was near impossible to do it without giving herself away. As much as the thought of being naked in the same room as her best friend horrified her, the idea of being seen naked by her best friend was even worse. The sounds of clothes falling on the floor made her bite her lip; she felt too ashamed to watch him undress, knowing it to be unfair, especially if he had no idea that she was in there. Breathing calmer, though her heart still thrummed quickly, she decided that she’d just have to keep her eyes closed until he left.

Hearing a clang of metal she was startled into opening her eyes and looking over to the figure who was- God! He was topless now, his smooth and muscular back and shoulders rippling as he discarded his belt onto the bench and bent over to pull down his trousers. A fire sparked in Hermione’s gut as her eyes were glued to his arse. Shame and guilt overpowered by curiosity she almost hungrily drunk in this figure clad only in black boxers; she’d noticed that he was tall and lean but now undressed she found herself pleasantly surprised by the hidden details. His legs hadn’t really been much of a secret, not after spending a summer of T-shirts and shorts at the Burrow, but somehow in this context they were sexier. Wait, not ‘sexier’, just…Well, she hadn’t exactly been repulsed by his legs when shown them over the summer, not really noticing them. She gulped as she admitted to herself that she’d been trying not to notice them but failing, her eyes drawn to them whenever they were lying on the grass just talking, studying the muscle and wanting to run her hand along his shins to feel the texture of the ginger hairs, then slip them further up to his hips. At that behind, that firm, round arse that she’d noticed only a few times when he’d bent down to pick up something; how it aroused her more with one less layer on, more defined and more- Blushing furiously she quickly dragged her eyes upwards and forced such dirty thoughts out her head. His head and neck weren’t new, although she appreciated the connection between his neck and collar bones, thinking it almost elegant. She always noticed his broad shoulders more in his Quidditch gear, the shoulder pads emphasising their size, and when he played she often found her gaze drawn to his torso, sometimes wondering how it would look like bare, how it would feel to press a hand against that solid chest. That milky chest and abdomen made her shiver, with outlined and firm but not exaggerated muscles. He must be strong. What was she thinking? Of course she knew that he was strong. His upper arms were also new. She liked them: not thin but not bulky, they still looked like he could carry her at least a short distance. Gulping she tried not to think about being in those long, warm arms. A few freckles were dotted on his chest and back, that lean looking back, but apart from his face and forearms he was mostly white. Her own abdomen clenching, she imagined running her hands all over that smooth skin.

Suddenly his fingers were curling round the waistband of his boxers and completely unprepared she found herself staring at him. Staring at…it. For several moments she was without thought or idea, just taking in the sight. She’d never seen… one, in real life but she’d seen diagrams in the books she’d read about puberty and human anatomy. Wizards weren’t too hot on sexual education and when she’d realised that she’d taken it upon herself to learn; not just about female puberty but male as well, going as far as to read up on sex and sexual…activities. So she knew what it looked like, in theory. The girls in her dorm, the obnoxious ones, would sometimes talk about sex, spreading ridiculous rumours about people and whether they’d done it or not, as well telling each other absurd ‘facts’ about sex itself. The amount of times she’d had to suppress an eye-roll at how wrong they were…Anyway, she wasn’t a stranger to…all of that. Privately, she’d always considered the penis as ugly and repulsive if not a bit intimidating. But for some reason Ron’s made her feel, well, not so much feel as react, react with excitement. As he approached the other side of bath she watched how it moved with the rest of his body and she tensed unconsciously, her whole body fizzing. It was almost the same shade of white all the rest of him, hanging from a cluster of fine ginger hairs. Was it meant to be that big? She had no idea but was almost disappointed as he finally reached the bath edge and lowered himself into the water, losing sight of his cock. His cock, Ron’s…Ron’s cock she’d just seen Ron’s…Oh God!

The guilt washed over her. She’d just perved on her best friend! Not just spied on, almost salivated over him! Over his…privates. She’d violated a sacred rule of friendship, she’d completely betrayed his trust and…She felt terrible. Ron was her best friend and she’d…Well, in her head he was more than a friend. She knew that she loved him in a different way to how she loved Harry. Harry was like a brother to her, she worried about him, felt comfortable with him and wanted to spare his pain. With Ron it was the same but different; she still felt all the same things only…They were more extreme. She didn’t worry about him, she obsessed over his safety and wellbeing; she didn’t just feel ‘comfortable’ with him, sometimes when they together she felt like they were the only two people in the world, warm and safe and, well, loved. Even though she’d never received any definite proof that he loved her in the same way, whenever she was in his arms, however briefly, she just felt…like she was home. Her heart always spasamed when Harry was in trouble but with Ron, it felt like her heart was being violently shredded, a constant ripping sensation in her chest that didn’t stop until he was safe. She would die for both of them, but she would give anything for Ron to live. And although she’d never seen Harry naked, she somehow knew that if she did, it wouldn’t have the same effect on her as Ron just did. Whatever her other feelings towards him, there was no doubt that she was attracted to him. Not even that, she was aroused by him, his body causing so many sensations up and down her own.

No, she had to stop these thoughts. It didn’t matter that she found him attractive or loved him; the fact was that he didn’t feel any of that towards her. She had to control herself. Hermione, she thought, enough is enough. Closing her eyes and breathing in as deeply as she dared, she tried to conjure up all the feelings she felt whenever he was being annoying or just infuriating. He’d called her a fair amount of names: ‘mental’, ‘bossy’, ‘know-it-all’, trying to bring her down to his level. They argued fiercely and he could be vicious when he wanted to be. And then there were his terrible manners, elbows on the table when eating, talking when eating, eating like a farmyard animal; in short, sometimes he could be downright disgusting. No, not quite disgusting, just…distasteful. And he was so stubborn, never admitting if he was wrong and always trying to twist things to suit him or vindicate himself. He never made enough effort, complaining when he didn’t understand things or teasing her for being right. Or worse, gloating when he did something better than her. It happened rarely, but was so annoying when he did. He was so annoying!

The sound of splashing snapped her eyes open again and she couldn’t help herself, she just looked at him and was caught. Arms behind his head he had his own eyes closed, a lazy smile stretched across those full lips; suddenly they were back at the Burrow, lying in the shade of the oak tree near the bottom of the garden. They hadn’t talked much usually, just enjoying the light breeze and sounds of the countryside, occasionally sharing a small smile with each other. At the time she’d thought that he had been completely at ease, but now, seeing him when he thought he was alone, she knew that she had been mistaken. He looked different to normal. She didn’t quite know how; all his mannerisms were the same but there seemed to be something about him, like he had an inner peace. It was mesmerising to witness. Seeing it, she realised that there was always something going on with Ron, some thought or image whirling round in his head. She tilted her head slightly, studying him more intensely. Was it because he didn’t completely relax among other people or was it just that he couldn’t let his guard down around her? She hoped it was the former. Now seemingly alone, he’d let go and was just being. Like her. Wow, that similarity between them had been unexpected. How many more sides to him hadn’t she seen?

As if sliding into more bliss, he sunk slowly under the water till he completely disappeared. All at once relieved she could breathe but anxious she couldn’t see where he was, she re-cast the disillusionment spell just in case and waited. Her head was still buzzing with all her revised opinions about him. Suddenly, she just wanted him to hurry up so she could leave. As thrilling and revealing it had all been, a dead weight had begun to grow within her stomach as she was reminded of her own actions. It was definitely time to leave. But where was he? He was taking his sweet time. It must have been at least a minute. Still nothing. Some movement, a few extra bubbles? It was impossible to tell. That familiar ripping sensation beginning to take hold she abandoned all worry over everything other than that stupid boy she’d fallen in love with. Springing off the bath wall she waded as quickly as she could to where he’d been; wand in hand ready to summon him to the surface she felt every nerve pulsing painfully. Stopping and opening her mouth she was severely jolted and splashed by a surge in the water and the sudden reappearance of that red-head. Suppressing a little choke she stared up at him, his face mere inches from hers and, so, so…His hair was a shade darker and plastered over his forehead, water droplets clung to his eye lashes; tracks of water running down his nose and across his cheeks glistened in the light and his lips. God. His lips. She’d always been drawn to them but now, all wet and full and almost glinting as the water dried on them; she couldn’t help herself. Toes pushing off the floor she pushed herself up and towards the red beacons, eager and yearning for them.

But all she reached was air. Blinking, she realised that he’d waded back a bit and was now reaching behind him for the towel on the side of the bath. Cursing inwardly and suddenly teary-eyed, she slowly and carefully moved to her side of the bath, not looking at him as he climbed out. The few minutes he took to dry off and get changed were the longest of her life. Clenching her eyes shut and digging her fingernails into her palms, she held back the whimpers clawing up her throat, only breathing out when she heard the door creak open and click shut. Clutching her face in her wet hands she sobbed, a wave of conflicting emotions bombarding her relentlessly. Guilt rose up and crashed against her chest, compressing it and flooding into her stomach where it swirled, twisting into disgust at herself, disgust at what she had done. Then her loins flared again as the image of his alluring body made her shiver all over, drawing a small moan from her as she pressed the heels of her hands further into her eye sockets, trying to stop the barrage of images and tears. It was all too much because she hadn’t gotten enough. She’d desperately wanted to taste those lips and she’d missed her chance, feeling horrible for feeling cheated and betrayed. It was hopeless. Would she ever get a chance to taste him? Or even see him, all of him, the real him, again? Gulping she managed to calm her breaths, keeping her eyes closed and noticing the drop in temperature of the water. It wasn’t staying warm like it usually did and this thought sobered her more.  
Finally she sniffed, wiped her cheeks and breathed in deeply. She was controlled again, she could go out that door and look him in the eye and not fall apart, not burst into tears, not blush, not fall to her feet to beg forgiveness, to beg for a kiss. She was strong, she was Hermione and she could do it. Lifting her head to start getting out of the bath she caught her eye on a figure by the door and gave a strangled cry. Ron was starting at her silently, eyes wide and mouth open.


	2. Layers

For a long while they simply looked at each other, shock halting all other reactions. He had known that there was something wrong but he hadn’t seen this coming. The minute he’d walked in there had been something pulling on the fine hairs of his arms, causing him to pause and scan the room for any evidence of…well, that something. Seeing nothing, he’d carried on thinking about the biggest problem in his young life. Her. That girl. That crazy, beautiful, sharp as a dragon’s claw girl with her full petite body, her deep brown eyes, warm voice and that face, oh Gods that awe-inspiring face, so changeable, intricate but strong, familiar yet sometimes cold, she had a hundred different smiles alone and he doubted that he knew them all, even after all those years. He was in awe of her constantly, even when she was crushing his spirit and laughing at him. As he peeled off his clothes he felt like she was with him, her presence so heavy in his head. That feeling wasn’t really new, that girl…that girl in his head, she was always there. She wouldn’t let him go… she haunted him, even when she wasn’t around piping up with that haughty voice or swinging her great head of hair, the individual curls bouncing and swaying against her tanned neck.

As he walked over to the bath he almost smiled. Man he loved that hair. He slipped into the water. Wait, he’d been on another train of- A sound disturbed his thoughts, a rippling sound and a kind of breath, a gasp? He stayed completely still, trying not to let his eyes dart nervously around the room. There was nothing, silence. He was being stupid, there wasn’t anyone with him. Except her. With a forced casualness he put his arms behind his head and leant against the bath wall, trying to enjoy the warmth around his tight muscles. It felt like summer, laying on the springy grass in the garden and watching the clouds beside that warm body…

He couldn’t escape her so he just closed his eyes and wallowed in the happy memory. Sighing quietly, he felt himself properly relax as he heard the echoes of birdsong and a warm breeze; slowly he slipped under the water. He was incredibly warm, a welcome cocoon pulsating around him; he wanted to stay in that embrace forever, to be engulfed in perfect heat, the harsh sounds of the world dulled, jagged edges softened, the water gently pushing against him. Wait, pushing? Why was it moving towards him? Opening his eyes and instantly regretting it as the water stung them, he sprung off the floor and upwards, mind starting to panic. His whole body tensed as he saw…

Blinking a bit he tried to focus his eyes. He felt a flash of annoyance. Once again he was completely alone. There was nothing! Nothing, he couldn’t see-  
Suddenly he felt a puff of air on his face and he jerked away, reaching for his towel and trying to control his breathing. There was someone in the bathroom, someone watching him; someone he couldn’t see and couldn’t defend himself from. Oh Gods above who was it? What did they want? The tugging in his stomach grew violent as tried to stop himself from shaking; hearing further disturbances in the water he pulled on his clothes shakily, seeing the girl in his mind widen her eyes and move her mouth in silent warning, pleading him to leave, to get out safe. Grabbing his bag he strode over to the door, itching to run and throw himself out of the room and as far away as possible. He closed his fingers over the door handle when a choked noise made him hesitate. His hand kept on pulling as his mind rushed back from his bed in the Gryffindor Tower and into the room, behind him in the bath. Ron blinked, his eyes looking at the corridor but seeing someone crying; slowly, without moving, he let go of the door and it shut quietly. Throat tight and limbs stiff he turned and saw a girl, head in her hands as her shoulders were wracked in…grief? Why? Wait… I know that hair.

His mind was blank and yet overflowing with tangled thoughts all pushing into each other. Hermione, Hermione was here, in the boy’s bathroom, she was crying, Hermione, that hair, bathroom, Hermione, crying, in the bath, naked, he’d been naked, Gods! Hermione’d seen him naked in the boy’s bathroom! She’d…she’d seen him! He flushed furiously, burning with embarrassment and he wanted to turn and run as far away as possible to never hear the derisive laughter- but wait, she was now crying? She wasn’t giggling at his unsightly body, she was in tears. Not just in tears, really sobbing. Sympathy and concern flooded over his embarrassment and shock and he was about to step forward and offer comfort when she sniffed and started wiping her face vigorously. He was frozen as she looked up and saw him.

There they were, staring in horror and embarrassment and… something else twisting in their chests. Part of her wished he’d go away or at least stop looking like her at that, his face slowly growing redder and redder as his body began to tremble. She felt the pit in her stomach blacken further. He was getting angry, oh God, he’s going to kill me and then never speak to me again. He made a choked noise, hand making some kind of signal neither understood, facial muscles struggling with so many possible reactions. Within the storm of emotions howling inside her, Hermione realised that there was only one thing to do that could stay his anger, to right her mistake. Breathing in heavily, still unsure of herself, she prayed that her bold move would force his hand, either way.  
Shaking like a leaf she stood up and climbed out of the bath. She could barely hear the surprised gasp from across the room above the roaring of blood in her head. Gulping she held herself slightly more confidently and glanced at Ron, a little unsure of his reaction. He’d turned his head away, looking at the wall to his left, looking unsteady himself, one hand blinkering his peripheral view of her and another braced against the wall. His refusal to look at her both relieved and annoyed her, she was glad he wasn’t jumping at the chance to perve on her but at the same time…

She wanted him to see, not just as justice for her accidental view of him at his most vulnerable but she kind of wanted to know what he would think. So long wondering, guessing, judging and trying to analyse his looks and his off-hand comments, this was one way of getting a sure answer; with more strength in her voice than she believed should be there, she half-commanded.

“Ron, look at me.” Ron didn’t know where to look, eyes darting on the far wall as he stayed absolutely still, shame bubbling as he tried desperately to think of extremely disgusting thoughts to calm his racing pulse and excited groin. He hadn’t even seen anything properly, having turned away as soon as he’d realised what she’d done; but the mere thought of her naked turned him on and so he was trying to absorb the coldness of the wall through his hand and guide it down to his twitching cock. Oh Gods, she’d be repulsed by it, laughing at his pathetic crush on her, his unguarded yearning for her. He had definitely not been prepared for this. Gods, he’d longed for her for so long, without even knowing it, but the lustful thoughts were quite recent, for only about a year.

Watching her trail sleepily up to bed and burning at the thought of her undressing, muffling groans to himself as he showered, picturing her slick and wet body up against his under the spray and doing very sinful things whilst thinking about her legs, her breasts, her behind and that wicked mouth. Sitting beside her in class or in the Great Hall was bad enough, sometimes when an arm or leg accidentally brushed any part of him he coloured and had to force himself to remain focused on the conversation. But what was worse was the library or the Common Room, especially when Harry wasn’t around to distract him from her un-ignorable and infinitely warming presence. His eyes were drawn to her, no matter the time of day, the essay he desperately needed to write or anything else at all, he couldn’t help those damn eyes flicking up every so often to study her; they would watch her expressions range from interested to bored to gleeful to tired, they would track the path of her quill, taking in the shapes made by the feather, the slight bounce of her curls as she shifted in her seat. His eyes were as obsessed with her as he was and much to his eternal shame, his hands had started to try and get in with the fan club. Part of him knew that if he turned around and gave into his eyes, it wouldn’t be long until his fingers would itch and stretch urgently, reaching out to touch her, to stroke her, to claim her. He wouldn’t let them, it wasn’t right, he had to stop, he couldn’t lose control, he just had to stop-

“Ron.” There was a pause before he murmured still without looking at her.

“Uhuh?”

“Look at me.” Without thinking he obeyed her, something in her voice that... Oh by…  
Something, oh by something powerful look at that body! It was even more beautiful and desirable than he’d ever imagined in his most depraved and wistful moments. She was…perfect.

She hated it, her body. He knew that; she’d complained about it often enough. Well, not verbally and certainly never to him, but even so he’d still picked up more than a few hints over the years. She would sit down and cover her stomach with her jumper, folding her arms across her chest or propping a book up to hide behind. She thought that her arms were too thin, hands that fidgeted just weird-looking, shoulders too narrow, chest too flat and legs too gawky, always wearing tights if not trousers; why he’d never figure out, they were so shapely! He also suspected that she’d never realised how heart-pumpingly exciting her petite behind was; so round and full and Gods be dammed squeezable.

Against his will, his eyes dragged his gaze to her crotch and he had to suppress a whimper. Such neat, little brown curls gathered together as if inviting him to run his fingers down and into- He couldn’t hide his arousal now, he’d completely lost himself in lust as he almost felt the heat radiating from her. How he ached to stroke her smooth flesh, to squeeze her firm arse, to feel her silky centre- No, no you must control yourself! Desperately he dragged his gaze up to somewhere safe, her face, good idea, look at her beautiful, beautiful face; she was probably horrified with him. Yes, let her shame and disgust at him calm his raging libido. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes fixed on the ceiling and mouth moving slightly as if praying to a higher power and as he took in those soft eyes, perfectly arched eyebrows, cream skin and full lips, he felt another staggering awe sweep through him. Beautiful, just, not even that, just, oh he couldn’t find a single word worthy of her incredible, radiance; the Gods knew how he’d tried to describe her, he’d spent entire nights trying out every word he knew to encapsulate her beauty, he’d even read some poetry to try and get the right words. Though he’d found some enlightening new phrases to use, none of them, even with their lyrical quality, came close to describing her. She thought she was plain, average at best but it seemed like only she thought that, especially considering the looks she got from some of the boys. But she was wrong, as were the random on-lookers, she wasn’t just sexy and good-looking, she radiated warmth and goodness and… Sometimes he had trouble explaining how he felt about her in his own head, so complex and depthless his emotions. She inspired warmth and joy in him, he couldn’t be around her and not feel her presence surrounding him. It was hopeless, staring dumbly at her, he couldn’t care less about the drool that was surely flowing out of his mouth. Oh Gods she was beautiful, oh Gods he wanted her, oh, oh, oh! His fingers began to twitch and the last of his resolve melted away as he took a step towards her.

It began to get cold and she tore her nervous gaze away from the ceiling and dared a glance at him. If she’d thought his face had been red before, she hadn’t grasped the meaning of red. And also there was something else that was sticking out… That same organ she’d been fascinated with earlier was again calling her attention and she almost choked on the desire to see it now. A thrill went through her at the same time as a churning in her stomach; he desired her, she turned him on. The power and terror she felt intertwined inside her, wrestling each other for dominance. She stared at his face and even without all her cautious self-doubt there was no mistaking the look in his eyes; it was lust, the definition of sexual desire was radiating from her best friend. Images from before flooded her brain and suddenly she’d undressed him, marrying his passionate expression and his mouth-watering form. Part of her wanted him to go away and try and forget the whole thing, but a stronger part called him to her, willing his long fingers to reach out and run all over her quivering body. He stepped towards her and she shivered violently, from cold or excitement or fear she didn’t know. Seeing her shivering he seemed to be snapped out of his trance and looked away, half-coughing half-choking as he forced out.

“Oh! You, you don’t…oh Gods I’m sorry, I mean… you- don’t have to… I mean, put some clothes on.” His stammering began to dampen the burning in her and she felt the vulnerability of her nakedness more than ever. “I mean, no, put clothes on. I mean- oh Merlin!” He sounded so ashamed and almost in pain, but she hardly noticed, her own elation crashing. Nodding, more to herself than to him, she darted over to her bag and got dressed hastily as Ron cleared his throat and looked back at the wall, muttering reprimands to his treacherous hormones. Not soon enough, she was completely covered up and ready to dash out. She coughed lightly as she approached the door and the boy she had a dubious friendship with; he began to turn slowly towards her and fear tearing chunks out of her insides, she started hurriedly, pleadingly.

“Ron, I’m so sorry, I-” He shook his head, half-waving to stop her, hand shaking as he ran it through his air before he gulped and looked in her direction mumbling something neither could quite catch. Biting her lip she rocked on her heels slightly, shoulders cramping from the tension coiled up in them. Ron had his gaze fixed above her head and opened his mouth several times before breathing in deeply and saying.

“So…you going to come upstairs?” Almost shocked by this complete change of subject she choked and despite his very strong indications that he didn’t want to talk about it, she couldn’t help the babble from frothing from her mouth.

“I just wanted to get away from the girl’s-”

“Hermione!” There was a beat in which they just stared at each other, shallow breaths filling the air between them. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. Let’s just… let’s just leave it okay?” Ron held his breath, he’d wanted to apologise for his inappropriate reaction but had no idea how to do it without embarrassing them both even more. Even though she hadn’t vocalised it, he was sure that she was mortified and disgusted, and he just wanted to run as fast away as he could. He was too embarrassed and ashamed to even feel angry at her for putting them in this situation in the first place. She closed her open mouth and tried to calm her frustration and guilt; finally she just nodded and suddenly they both snapped into action, stepping towards the door. They almost bumped shoulders and stopped abruptly as they realised how close they were. Ron stepped back, face glowing again, indicating a weak hand towards the door, throat too tight to utter ‘after you’. It probably would have sounded poncy anyway, he thought as Hermione nodded faintly and went through before him. She opened the door and stepped through, him following but eyes opening in horror as he bumps into her. What? She’d stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering that she was exiting a boy’s bathroom and only had a moment of relief that no one was there when Ron's chest hit her back. They both choked, frozen after electricity bolted through their spines. Hermione jumped forward suddenly and they both avoided even looking at each other as Ron stepped out slowly and closed the door. After another excruciating silence Hermione muttered awkwardly.

“Upstairs?” Ron nodded and they turned and walked to the Gryffindor Tower together, several feet apart and in complete silence.


	3. Dirt

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione flung her book down, pouting slightly as she huffed, hot and frustrated. It was impossible to get that fine form out of her head. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, every time she turned her mind to Charms or Transfiguration or even Potions, suddenly that marble chest would distract her, forming saliva in her mouth, dryness in her throat and heated throbs in her abdomen. Damn him! Why did he have to be so… she lost her train of thought with the memory of his body clouding her head. It was two days after the incident and she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head; it didn’t help that he was always around, constantly prompting steamy memories with a mere tilt of his head or a casual greeting. It was driving her mad. She needed to do something, she couldn’t just let herself constantly be distracted by-by, oh God it was happening again! No! She had to do something!

A single thought kept on pulling at her mind. Did he have the same reaction because of any other girl? If he did then, well, he did. It would be terrible but there wouldn’t be much she could do about it. However, there was no way of telling if he’d…get hard, if he saw another naked girl because there was no way that Hermione was letting that happen! But she could definitely measure his interest in other girls so the next day she conducted an experiment. It was Friday and the library was pretty busy, even the popular, attractive people were here getting work done: perfect conditions. Hermione had made sure to get a table on one of the aisles so that you would be able to clearly see everyone who walked past and sitting across from Ron, she pulled a big book onto her lap so she could bent behind it and watch the subject without suspicion. He wasn’t in the mood to work, as usual, fidgeting and twirling his quill as he moved his eyes unseeingly over the page, clearly wanting to be off with Harry somewhere; the perfect mood in which to be distracted by…other girls. 

Sure enough, as people walked past, Ron would look up, either sharing smiles with his dorm mates or nodding to people he talked to or just look to see who it was; Hermione gathered, after about an hour of it, that sometimes his eyes would linger longer on the girls, usually those who were known for being sought after. But she didn’t let herself get disheartened, allowing for teenage boy horniness, and kept on observing, wondering if a pattern would emerge soon. As time went on though, it became harder to watch him surreptitiously as he kept on glancing at her and she’d have to hurriedly look down at the book, furrowing her brow as if in thought. Another hour into the experiment and she could only watch him when he was glancing at whoever was walking past, she didn’t know whether this was a good thing or not. 

“Hermione?” Jumping and wincing at the heaviness of the book on her lap, she choked and blushed royally, shy at his concerned gaze. “Are you okay? You haven’t turned the page in ages.” Taken aback by his observation, she blushed and panicked, deciding quickly to leave before she embarrassed herself further. Pushing the heavy tome off her and stuffing it into her bag, not looking at him, she murmured a goodbye and hurried towards the door. But as she reached it, something made her turn back; she saw him staring after her, concern and something else in his gaze. He blushed, but smiled and gave a little salute and she returned the smile before slipping out of the door. The feeling of power coursed through her, he wanted her, he wanted her! She was the girl he noticed the most. Her hope now had actual empirical evidence and was more than plausible, it was fact; now, how to bring it up without it being awkward? She’d need a long time to figure that one out.

Ron sat in the library, staring sightlessly at the door where Hermione had just left from. He didn’t think that words could quite cover the encounter in the Prefect’s bathroom; just like his failure to vocalise his love for her, his pure mortification and horror at his self-exposure also went un-quantified. He was such a…a randy, lanky, idiotic git whilst she…she was just so, so, so perfect. He’d suspected that for ages but finally he knew, he’d seen his wildest dreams proved reality and for two days it had seemed unlikely that he’d ever get to see it again. But, and it was a small but, he didn’t want to get his hopes up, but it seemed like Hermione had been staring at him for two hours straight. He hadn’t said anything, as he’d quite liked the attention, whatever reason it was being given. But when he finally did question her, she’d been embarrassed. It was almost as if….No, he wouldn’t go there. Best just to wait and watch for any more clues. There was hope again. Smiling to himself, he settled down to actually attempt some work.

…

Hermione jumped and grinned so wide; she cheered as loud as she could, surrounded in red and gold, the crowd around her ferocious in their jubilation. They’d won! The only time she enjoyed the pointless game was when Ron and Harry were playing; and they’d both been on spectacular form. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from Ron, watching each dive with excitement and awe. Grinning, she fought her way through the crowds, losing track of where the boys were in the sea of happy people; hoping to be able to give Ron a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.

A voice right behind her ear made her jump. Who was…? Oh no, McLaggen! He circled her, cutting her off from where the crowd was milling back to Hogwarts. Couldn’t he get the hint? Every time they’d spoken had been tinged with awkwardness, his eagerness making her skin crawl.

“Great match today huh?” She smiled politely, looking over his shoulder, straining to see a familiar face from above the sea of people she suddenly saw a shock of red. Ron! Oh thank goodness! She was about to make her way over to him when her suitor grabbed her arm. Annoyed, she snorted and turned her head, pulling away. “Please Hermione, just listen to me for two seconds!” She sighed, damn, why did he have to start being reasonable? Huffing quietly, she folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, signalling him to start. 

“Just, I really like you, and I thought you liked me too.” She shrugged, feeling a little ashamed at her dismissive behaviour but at a loss at how to make him feel any better; she still didn’t like him. Sensing her relenting, McLaggen intensified his gaze and went to grab her again. She was about to draw her wand when an angry voice called out. 

“Oi! Get your hands off her!” Snapping her arm out of the brute’s reach, she stepped to the side and saw Ron striding over, broom in one hand and a fist in the other; his face was dark with anger. McLaggen turned and feigned indifference.

“Oh, it’s you Weasley, do us a favour and clear off will you?” Hermione poured all of her desperation into her expression, wanting Ron to know just how much she didn’t want him to leave. He glanced at her, something of reassurance flashing in his eyes before he resumed his stare at the smaller boy. Slowly and barely containing the rage bubbling inside, Ron replied, his eyes trained on the attacker’s face.

“Leave her alone.” With an obnoxious smile, McLaggen said forcefully.

“No.” Without warning, Ron pounced, hands gripping the stockier boy’s arms as he brought him crashing down on his back. Hermione yelped as they whistled past her and gasped to get her breath back; the boys were now wrestling violently, hands pawing at necks and fists flying wildly. She cried exasperatedly.

“Oh just stop it, this is ridiculous!” But as the punches and holds got more vicious and the grunts of pain louder her pleas increased. “Stop! Please, stop!” They were so muddy that she couldn’t even tell them apart, as they were tangled on the floor she couldn’t make out Ron’s slight height advantage and quickly cycled through the spells that would stop but not hurt them. About to cast an immobulous, the boy below suddenly turned them so he was on top and landed an especially hard punch across the other’s face, causing his head to collide with the hard mud. Hermione felt sick as the boy on top stared at the still boy beneath him, who looked like he was fighting to stay conscious, arms going limp and chest heaving as his head lolled slightly. Panting heavily, the victor pulled himself to his feet and as those flashing brown eyes locked onto hers, she cried out and rushed to her friend on the floor. 

Slipping on the mud she skidded to a halt beside Ron as he groaned quietly, one hand gently fingering his head as he wheezed with effort. Reaching forward, Hermione tried her best to ignore the snooty McClaggen who was talking to her from above.

“Now that he’s out of the way, we can get back to where we were.” She wasn’t even listening, murmuring hushed comforts and tentative questions, casting a concussion-preventing charm, feeling cold fear flooding her. Annoyed, the jilted boy grabbed her arm and pulled her up to standing. Snapping inside, her stomach still swilling with panic and worry, she worked out of his grasp and tried to return to the floor but he pulled her again, an arm around her middle.

“No, let go of me! Ron!” Struggling against him was pointless, such was his strength, and as he breathed on her neck she snapped and stamped hard on his foot. He cried out and let her go of her waist but closed a tight hand around one of her arms, trying to still pull her to him whilst blinking away the pain. She snorted and lifted a hand to smack him but he caught that too and pulled her arms around him, trying to kiss her. Enraged, she twisted her head away as his filthy hands were covering her arms and torso with wet mud. Gritting her teeth she brought up a knee in between his legs, hard. He completely let her go, grunting but she wasn’t done; snapping back her arm she growled and punched him across the face, feeling his fragile nose crack under her fist. The blow broke open the skin on her knuckles but she didn’t notice, too furious. He stared at her, wide-eyed and jaw quivering as he choked. She yelled at him.

“Go!” Eyes blazing but shoulders hunched over and hands covering his nose protectively, the boy gave her one last look before sloping off. Hermione watched him leave carefully. She and Ron were left alone. Turning back to her fallen champion, she found that his eyes had closed.

“Ron?” Leaping down to his side again she scanned his face and head for the cause of his unconsciousness. Her stomach was falling rapidly. No, this was not happening, he was fine, he was fine. She shook him and thankfully he groaned in answer. “Ron, wake up, please wake up!” Face almost obscured by mud, his grumpy expression looked very strange; he mumbled something like ‘five more minutes’ but still close to full-blown panic, she glanced around frantically looking for help, seeing no one around, how had the place cleared so quickly? Now fully awake, he held onto her forearm and tried to calm her.

“I’m fine Hermione!” He laughed suddenly. “I’m more worried about you!” Squinting at him as if searching for brain damage, she said slowly. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t got a scratch on me! It’s you who-” Laughing even harder at her concern, he tried to stifle his grin to try and calm her.

“I mean that right hook! Seriously, are you feeling alright?” Finally catching on, Hermione sat back on her heels, expression melting from panic to exasperation; as she helped him up he continued. “Not that I’m complaining, it’s bloody brilliant when you go all-” He clutched his side, wincing and breathing in sharply. Worriedly she supported him a little before he could straighten up fully. Now he was upright, she was curious.

“When I go like what?” He paused, she could tell that under the mud, he was going red.

“Nothing.” Although gleeful at his slip-up, she didn’t press him. He bent down to pick up his discarded broom and suddenly she started giggling, indicating to the mud on them.

“We must look ridiculous!” Grinning, he choked and nodded as they both laughed. But he sobered up a little as he saw her pulling some mud from one of her curls with distaste and said quietly.

“You could never look ridiculous.” She looked up, startled both by his speech and by the compliment. Her conviction that he liked her strengthening beyond reasonable doubt, she felt almost weak at the knees but forced herself to act casual.

“Well, I want to go and get cleaned up!” She gazed at the castle in the distance and sighed tiredly. “It’s such a long trek up to the castle though!” Her muddy friend looked between her and the castle, and then glanced down at the broom in his hand. Breathing in deeply he looked up at her and said steadily but nervously.

“I could give you a lift?” Hermione shook her head.

“Oh, oh no I couldn’t, you know how terrible I am on a broom.” He nodded almost absently, looking at the ground. Registering his disappointment, she said hurriedly. “But, thanks for the offer. Maybe, maybe another time…” Ron nodded, unsure whether to indulge the hope bubbling in his chest at this dubious acceptance of a possible future broomstick ride together. Almost laughing at himself, he looked around them and seeing the stadium behind them. 

“Well, you can always use the Quidditch Pitch showers, everyone should be gone by now.” Again, Hermione felt terrible but wasn’t comfortable with lingering there; she didn’t belong in that world.

“I couldn’t!” He twisted his lip but went on.

“Come on, they’re only over there. You’ll be in and out, no one to walk in-” he cut himself off abruptly, looking over her shoulder and biting his lip. Blushing and ignoring his second almost slip-up, she gulped as a plan began to form in her head.

“Alright then, good idea.” Supporting him slightly, Hermione lead them towards the changing rooms, the whole stadium now properly deserted. They would be completely alone together and, being the compassionate and helpful person she was, Hermione would of course offer to help Ron get clean in light of his injuries. She could barely hide her grin.


	4. Cleansing

Hermione walked beside Ron feeling her heart-rate pick up to such a speed it was humming. Her mind was brimming with hopeful images of what could be about to happen; but the closer they got to the changing rooms, the slower he was walking. She had noticed his slight limp and how he held himself stiffly, wincing every so often; sympathising and going over all the healing spells she knew, she reminded herself that she’d have to be gentle with him, at least at first. Suddenly they were inside and her nostrils were overcome with the smell of stale sweat, the emptiness of the benches and lockers disconcerted and reassured her; she looked at Ron, who’d stopped as well, peering around, checking they were really alone.

“Right, well, you’d better get cleaned up first, so I can take a look at your injuries.” Ron nodded and made to walk away but then hesitated. She looked at him, then down at his hands. “What’s the matter?” He uncurled the hand cradling the other and showed it to her; it was coated in mud, the fingers bent inwards, the thumb twitching ever so slightly and it was set straight like it was in a cast. It just looked wrong. He explained softly.

“My hand…I, I can’t really move it. The wrist, it’s stiff.” Through her growing concern, a little cry of joy popped up; here was the perfect opportunity. Frowning as she examined it, she tried to wrangle her voice into an almost detached observational tone.

“Well, I suppose I can help you.” Ron was confused by her meaning.

“What?”

“Help you get clean.” His eyes almost popped out. “Oh come on, it’s not that horrible an idea is it?” After a few torturous moments of silence, he ventured, trying to keep his voice joking.

“Err…Hermione? It’s a terrible idea.” Bravely, she took the plunge, trying to keep her voice even. 

“If you’re feeling self-conscious then I can get in the shower with you.” He spluttered, cheeks exploding outwards and throat half-choking as he almost stepped backwards by the force of his shock. Trying to ignore his reaction, Hermione went on conversationally. “This doesn’t change anything about, about us. I mean technically, we’ve already…” She forced her shoulders down and lifting her chin said steadily. “We’ve already seen everything that is to be seen.” Recovered a little, Ron just stared dumbly at her for a few seconds before shaking his head and forcing out.

“No! Hermione I can’t do this! I can’t control my-” He groaned instead of finishing the sentence, hiding his face in his good hand. Hermione tilted her head a little, heart melting at the sight of his awkwardness. It was adorable.

“Ron I know it’ll be a bit,” she almost giggled, “uncomfortable, but it really isn’t anything we haven’t seen before! Come on! ” She lead him through to the shower room, not letting him interrupt anymore, and he let her, heart slowly climbing up his throat uncomfortably but sending shivers through him; if he could play this right, then maybe….maybe… Hermione indicated to one of the shower cubicles and Ron just blushed at the thought of being pressed up against her, he looked imploringly at her one last time but she only suppressed a smirk and insisted he get in. Since when had she been this concerned about his cleanliness? Or this forward about it? Stiffly, he toed off his shoes and socks and climbed into the stall, Hermione quickly doing the same, heart shivering a violent rhythm. Being shorter, her eye line was to his collarbone and being in such a small confined space, her head was only a few inches away from his chest. He found he liked having her there, however hard it was becoming not to wrap his arms around her and pull her ever closer. Together, they looked at the showerhead.

After turning it on, both jumping back into the walls at the cold, still getting their sides wet and cold, they waited for it to get warm whilst being very aware of each other’s breaths on their skin. Shivering, they caught each other’s eyes and nervous giggles pulled each other’s lips up as they looked away again. Hermione felt young and silly and then grown-up and serious in quick succession, as she realised just what she could be asking for. What if she did something weird and he ran away? What if he did something weird that she couldn’t handle? He put his hand up to the water and nodded at her, it was finally warm; she breathed in deeply and pushed away all her doubts.

She started at his head, leading him under the spray and gently parting his hair to wash away the dried blood entangled in it. He closed his eyes, squeezing them when tracks of water ran down and curved over his brows and over the creased skin, clinging on to his face and running down further, clear veins etching intricate patterns, constantly being re-run or changed. He winced occasionally as she prodded, having to stand on tiptoes to be able to see his wound properly and sometimes bumping her elbows against the wall behind him in the process; even though in an uncomfortable position trying to sort out blood from hair, she felt a strong sense of satisfaction glowing inside her. She had wanted to run her hands through his shaggy hair for so long, to do it now, even though it was getting wet and slippery, was just… magical. She wasn’t sure it was Ron or all red-heads, but there was something about the colour that just drew her in. Thinking about it, she decided that even though he had handsome brothers, it was Ron’s specific shade of auburn that she loved the best. It had grown a little since the start of term so there were two flicks of hair coming just below his ears, his fringe just resting over his eyebrows; she hadn’t like it when his mother had insisted on cutting it short and was glad that it had had the chance to grow out.

Ron shifted his shoulders a little as a few beads of water trickled from his neck down his back but was ultimately enjoying Hermione’s fingers running across his scalp and through his hair. Slowly, he began to smile and she didn’t even notice him bending down, having done it so subtly, until she realised was no longer standing on her toes. They seemed even closer with his head lower down and Hermione suppressed a shiver, if she turned her head slightly she could reach his lips with her own. She pulled her wand out of the back pocket of her jeans, cast a final anti-concussion spell and then cleared her throat, business-like.

“Any fuzziness?” As her fingers left his head he slowly returned to standing straight but in an almost hypnotised way, an expression of bemused enjoyment gently drawn on his features.

“Mmm?”  Hermione half-laughed and asked again, exasperated and amused.

“I mean, does your head feel heavy or fuzzy at all?” After a moment’s thought, he opened his eyes and proclaimed cheerfully.

“No, it’s really clear!” Smiling, she continued on examining his face now and charming away some of the nastier bruises starting to form. He was still blinking away droplets of water, trying not to look at her when her face was so close, afraid of what he might do. Satisfied, she leant back, surveyed his features once more before she looked down and saw his damaged hand. Taking it delicately, she drew it under the spray, sympathising with his winces but being methodical in cleaning it. He didn’t say anything, he wasn’t even breathing loudly, just staring hard at his hand, again, hopelessly drawn in by her; her hands were small compared to his, soft and graceful, he’d always admired them. Gently, she cast a muscle relaxant spell and released her hold on his hand. Delightedly he looked at it, flexing the fingers and twisting his wrist experimentally. “Wow, thanks! It’s as good as new!” Happy, she breathed in and declared cheerily.

“Right…top off!” she hardly gave him time to blush. “I’ll take mine off too.” He snapped, shocked and almost horrified.

“No!” Taken aback, she looked at him quizzically, fat bubbles of doubt stickily rolling up her throat.

But his expression, suddenly regretful and even more embarrassed, reminded her of how much he knew. He was afraid of his reaction, of his…uncontrollable reaction, and he didn’t know that she actually wanted it; so although she wanted him to lose control and ‘react’ in that way, she judged it better to get him fully healed first. Unless either of them freaked out and ran away, they had plenty of time.  “What about your head? Don’t you want to wash your hair?” She was snapped back into reality by the anxious suggestion and suddenly became worried what she must look like.

Nodding, her confidence laid aside for a moment, she scooted round him a little and wet her hair, fingers trying to get the mud out but getting frustrated at not being able to see where exactly it was. Seeing her difficulty, Ron cleared his throat. “Erm, I could, help…you, youknowonlyifyouwant.” Turning to see his hopeful expression, she was torn between eagerness for him to touch her and reluctant for him to focus on one of her more obvious flaws. He stepped forward, overriding her hesitation by slowly reaching up to her head; shifting forward so he could work properly, fingers careful and tender as they ran through her locks, separating the muddied strands and washing them. The closeness of their bodies and the sensation of him massaging her scalp almost undid her; it was all she could do not to turn around and pounce. All too suddenly, he dropped his hands and coughed a little, signalling his completion.

“Thanks.” She breathed as she swivelled round and faced him, eyes locking onto his, snagged on the look she spotted there. They were so close, they were so close, so, close…

…

The moment passed and both looked away regretfully. She patted his arm gently as her expression reminded him of her earlier ignored order.

“It won’t be weird. Promise.” A little assured, he looked down and then up again, the fingers on his good hand pulling reluctantly at the hem of his jumper up and over his head. She was amused with the nonchalance he could exuberate whilst discarding a scrunched up jumper with one hand before she had to grin at what she saw. Underneath was his lucky Chudley Cannons T-shirt; the garish orange now faded and the fabric looking a little worn, ironically resembling the kind of T-shirt sold in casual clothes shops. Seeing her smile he chuckled a little himself, visibly trying to relax.

“Well it really works!” Hermione wanted to correct him, saying it was his own talent which ensured their success, but decided to put that comment away for another day, she had more pressing matters on her mind. Sensing, her uncompromising stance, he took off the lucky shirt as well and there it was, that marble chest. Oh God she wanted to touch it and suddenly she was: carefully pressing her fingertips over the straight lines defining his muscles before shaking herself and concentrating on the job at hand. There were only a few bruises that she waved her wand over, trying not to get distracted by how his muscles contracted as they healed. Finally, she put her wand away and then, without warning, she pulled her own top off and threw it away, feeling the joy bubbling furiously inside her at his very audible gulp. He stepped back slightly and leaned against the wall, eyes wavering over her shoulder, trying in vain not to notice the colour bra she had on. A soft, light pink. So like her. _Stop it!_

Unable to hide her grin, Hermione, breathless, reached for his belt but his newly healed hand round her wrist to stop her.

“It’s fine! You’ve healed everything!” His almost distressed voice and how he avoided looking at her chest almost swayed her, but she’d had enough of pulling back from the brink, of turning away when she’d just recognised the look shimmering in his eyes.

“Ron, you were limping. I’ll do it too.” But he shook his head, eyes worried and creased. He hadn’t let go of her arm, his hold gentle but insistent, however, her stubborn expression forced excruciating words from his lips.

“That doesn’t matter! It’s because I’m a guy Hermione, and when guys see a naked girl, I mean, no matter who it is they still want to-” He cut himself off, throat constricting and face burning, finally letting go of her.

“What?” She had an idea of what he was trying to say but still, she needed to hear him say it. He was barely audible as he ventured obediently.

“Well, they want to…touch…” This was it, she was ready. It was now or never. Using the sexiest voice she could muster, she whispered in his ear.

“Do you want to touch me Ron?” Shit, why did she have to do this to him? How could she be so confident and hot and beautiful and, and…perfect. Here she was, offering him an – at least partial – fulfilment of one of his fantasies and he was refusing it. He was going to ruin everything because he couldn’t be cool, or controlled or anything resembling perfect. It was like a light had sprung up from the pit of his stomach and was pushing upwards, constricting his ribcage and clenching all his muscles; he couldn’t breathe. This was it, he was about to die.

“Please don’t, please-” Her lips cut him off. They were frozen in place where they touched; Hermione could feel the heat radiating from his body, the blood pumping through those lips, the softness of them, softer than she’d imagined, soft but strong. Ron’s brain was melting. _Kiss. Kiss. Her lips, she’s…we’re, we’re kissing!_   As she pulled away, she drew a soft and pleading whisper from his lips. “Don’t stop.” Groaning, she leaned in again, their mouths pressing and moulding together with a growing hunger. He wrapped his arms around her, stomach exploding with joy, the feeling of completeness overwhelming him. He could barely take in everything; her damp skin under his fingers, the heat of her mouth pulsing, her body so, very, close. Her hands roamed his hard back, fingers feverish with the offering they had been given; every scrap of conscious thought left her, blown away by the sheer force of the emotions and sensations flowing into her head. She didn’t want it to end, she felt like she was finally somewhere too wondrous to comprehend. Coming apart reluctantly, she found his eyes and latched on, trying to project every ounce of joy as she whispered back.

“I won’t.”


	5. Getting Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end folks, the pair explore each other's bodies in full so there are detailed, explicit sexual acts and there's a bit of sentimental mush in there as well.  
> :D

Ron and Hermione almost threw themselves at each other, passion flaring between them across their exposed skin casting feverish sparks dance into their fired-up insides. Their hands roamed hungrily, finally allowed to touch what they craved, sketching over each other’s wet bodies. The effect was slightly ruined when they wandered under the spray and started getting water in their eyes, though as they pulled apart Hermione noted how the water made his lips slightly darker and all the more inviting. They were captivated by each other’s mouths until, slowly, Ron reached over and turned off the shower so they were left standing staring at each other, blinking, dripping wet and panting. A momentous event had shaken the very definition of their relationship and they could only let it sink in. Tentatively, he murmured, hand scratching the back of his head.

“Not that I’m complaining about this,” For the first time, her stomach plummeted. “I’m really, really not. I just,” He was looking down, avoiding her searching eyes and going on quietly. “I just want to make sure I’m not, you know, taking advantage.” She couldn’t help but smile at his concern as she replied, trying to hide her heavy breathing.

“Ron, whose idea was it to get in the shower together?” Hermione asked matter-of-factly, scanning his face: brows indented slightly, mouth pressed in contemplation, he was so adorable! He looked wary but answered.

“Er, you.”

“And who told you to take your top off?” It took a moment, but he finally saw where she was going with her questions; he grinned as she went on, leaning in and lowering her voice. “Who kissed you?”

“You.” He breathed before closing the gap. This kiss was different, it was stronger, more passionate, as if he’d been holding back before and now the floodgates on his emotions had bounded open. If Hermione had thought about it, she could have concluded that he probably had just let go of his remaining doubts; but thinking wasn’t really her priority at that moment. Hungrily, he broke off from her lips and trailed down her damp face and neck to her shoulder, swirling his tongue to cause tingles to rupture all over her body; encountering her bra strap, he thumbed it down off her shoulder, his tongue following it. Hermione gasped and moaned, mouth drawn open and fingers pressing firmly into his hips, wondering briefly where he’d been hiding this expertise. He better have not been getting practice with some other girl! No, she knew for a fact that he hadn’t. In an insane moment, she suddenly pictured Ron and Harry ‘practicing’ together and couldn’t suppress a burst of laughter. Ron lifted his lips from her skin and asked, a wrinkle in between his eyebrows as he began to look worried and insecure.

“What is it?” Not sure how Ron would react to the same image, Hermione shook her head, trying to smooth her mouth into a straight line.

“Nothing.” He relaxed slightly tilting his head, eyes uncompromising in his playful way, so she improvised wildly, fingers stroking his shoulder blade as she smiled broadly. “I just never thought we’d get here.” Nodding in earnest, giddy, Ron held the back of her neck gently in one hand and worked his mouth back up to hers, love in every kiss; feeling her body half-convulsing under his touches almost unnerved him, still unsure about what he was doing even though she seemed pleased about it. What she’d said carried a certain weight, one he couldn’t think through properly in that moment. Noticing him pulling back on his passion, she panted.

“Trust me Ron, there’s nothing, you could, do that, that’d, shock, me!” Looking up at her, a devilish twinkle in his eyes, he smirked.

“Really?” She nodded and there was a flash of doubt across his face before he grinded her into the wall; feeling his hardness pressed firmly against her middle shot sparks through her. He was making her lose control, her throat betraying her and eyelids half-fluttering with exquisite pleasure. Ron, pleased with her reaction, grew bolder and wandered a hand down to her arse, squeezing it lightly. She arched into him, groaning appreciatively, her fingertips dragging tantalisingly over his shoulders around his neck before pressing hard, short nails digging in when he grinded into her again. Whispers breathed out of her open mouth.

“So good.” Lips tilted upwards he mumbled something which she could only decipher as ‘I’m glad’; her mind too muddled for complicated thought processes. Ron thrusted against her again only to flinch and stumble slightly, breaking away from her skin and hissing in pain. Brown eyes flickered up to his face in confusion and concern, before the haze in her head cleared and she realised that he’d put too much weight on his injured leg. Still flushed and tingling from their explosive passion, she put a hand on his shoulder and said as sensibly as she could manage.

“We should heal that.” He looked up at her and disappointment flashed in his eyes; guessing at what was circling in his mind she gave her arm a squeeze and said gently as she lead him out of the stall. “Hey, we’re not finished yet.” He snorted, and flashed her a relieved smile. As he lowered himself stiffly onto the bench, she allowed herself a moment to appreciate his form again before busying herself with rolling up his trouser leg. She shivered, the air was beginning to cool around them; absent-mindedly she cast a warming spell and concentrated on dealing with his wound. The muscle around his knee was partly swollen and she examined it, deciding on the best spell when another great idea popped into her head and she gulped down a giggle before looking at Ron and saying with a straight face.

“I need to take your trousers off.” He didn’t answer, just blushed furiously, looking like he didn’t even have the capacity to argue, his shock so profound. She reassured him as she unbuckled his belt. “Honestly Ron, I’m not going to be frightened away by anything.” He gulped as she undid the buttons and lifted his hips to help her ease them down, his arousal was blaringly obvious but she didn’t comment, only tended to the strained muscle around the knee. But she found it impossible to ignore it, the sizeable lump straining noticeably under the thin material. She looked up, studying the fire in his eyes. Slowly, she raised herself off her haunches, undoing her skirt clasp and letting it fall to the floor; seeing her matching pink knickers, he moaned softly.

“Hermione.” Her heart was rattling manically in her chest, she leaned forward over him, a brave hand finding his arousal and pressing firmly against it; his eyelids fluttered and a hot hand grabbed her forearm. With enthusiasm, she pushed him back so he was splayed on the bench, finding a thrill run through her as she climbed on top of him; she liked this new position they were in and taking in the lust in his eyes, she saw that he seemed to like it too. His warm hands found her back, strong arms holding her in place. She felt close to feverish, each inch of his skin touching hers setting it alight; together they found each other’s lips again, pressing all their urgent feelings into each other. The thought crossed her mind that the bench was quite narrow and couldn’t be that comfortable to lie on, but Ron didn’t seem to mind, it looked like that was the last thing on his mind as he dragged his tongue across her bottom lip.

Ron thought that his elation would kill him very soon, so turned on and boundlessly happy by her acceptance and returning of his feelings. Well, he didn’t know about love but he wasn’t really able to form any coherent conclusions. All he knew was that the impossible was happening. Though he’d desperately hoped, he’d never actually believed that this would ever happen, never suspecting that Hermione would even look at him in that way, let alone take the lead. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but at that moment, she was blocking the coherent part of his brain, her beauty and strength and fire plundering all his sense and reigning over all that he was.

…

Relishing the power coursing through her, she worked down his neck and chest, sucking a nipple and almost unable to contain the sheer joy at his reaction, completely blown away by how much this was trumping her wildest fantasies. He was moaning and whining and whispering her name under her touches, his whole body shaking. She was going to go further south but he called her breathlessly and pulled her mouth back to his, lips pulsing burningly. As he stroked her scalp with surprisingly gentle fingertips, he worked the other hand into the gap between their chests and squeezed one of her breasts softly; she had to break off their kiss to gasp, her rapture breathing into his equally fervent, open mouth. Encouraged, he squeezed again, thumb brushing her nipple causing her to jerk involuntarily and choke down a squeak. Pleasure washed through her and remembering his boldness in the shower, she rubbed herself against his length quivering with blood and expectation. Both reacted immediately, gasping and groaning, rutting again and again without coordination, just revelry. Abandoning her hair, his right hand found her arse and worked in tandem with the other hand to massage both breast and buttock, causing her muscles to jerk and shiver rapturously. A familiar pressure was building up in his abdomen and he was too lost in pleasure and wonder to remember to be embarrassed or to worry about the inevitable end. This was Hermione lying on top of him, Hermione’s soft lips pressing hard on his neck, Hermione’s body sliding against his; she was surrounding him and he was so lost in her. It was too much, he barely managed to choke out her name before he came violently. The force of it threw his head back and his whole body stiffened briefly before every muscle melted. In awe, she watched him as he panted heavily, trying to recover his senses, eyes on the tendons in his neck and her whole body picking up the shaking of his; the sight had been extremely… Hermione couldn’t really describe how it had been or made her feel, only that she’d enjoyed feeling as well as seeing the effect on him. She decided that she wanted to see it again sometime before lifting herself off him a bit so he could reach over for his wand and clean up the dark patch staining his boxers. Licking her lips at the splatter of white just above his waistband, she watched him clean up that too and then looked up at him.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, eyes over her shoulder, his cheeks blistering with exertion and the embarrassment that had caught him up. Smiling warmly, though even more turned on and unsatisfied herself, she propped herself up on one forearm resting on his chest and cupped his face with the other hand.

“You don’t have to apologise…” She cleared her scratchy throat and said coyly. “It’s kind of a compliment.” He inclined his head slowly, mind now re-awakened, whirring. She let her eyes wonder off his face, trying to process the experience. Feeling ridiculous but honour-bound, he asked awkwardly.

“Erm, Hermione? I, I don’t know…I mean, how do…Do girls actually…? I know that it, it takes long-erm, longer for, erm, girls…” He trailed off, mumbling something about ‘the twins’ telling him something. Holding back a laugh, she nodded, unable to stop her stomach from fluttering at his interest. Half-horrified at losing her composure with a serious question to answer; she coughed and adopted her best knowledgeable voice, trying to ignore the feeling of ridiculousness of sounding like a bookworm when half-naked on top of her equally undressed best friend.

“Yes Ron, females do take longer to…orgasm. On average it takes women twenty minutes to reach…orgasm.” Eyebrows making a break for it, Ron stared at her for a long moment, the cogs in his head turning at a rapid speed. He licked his lips before making to get up, disappointing Hermione somewhat. She climbed off him, stood watching him grab his towel, trying not to feel betrayed when he laid the towel on the floor and looked up at her nervously. After a few seconds of silence he indicated to it and said, attempting to control his nerves.

“I thought it’d be more comfortable….” She stared at him and he blushed again. “I want to…to h-help you, erm, I mean, you’ll…you’ll need to sh-show me…how to…” Both touched and deeply gladdened by his awkward proposal, Hermione lay down on the towel and Ron half-lay on his elbow beside her. He had gulped a few times and seemed to have controlled his blush so now comfortable, he looked at her expectantly.

 “Well, the main erogenous zones for a woman are the nipples and the clitoris.” His expression of anxious ignorance was reassuringly familiar, even though his lack of confidence in this area wasn’t particularly reassuring or, well, good. But instead of helping him more, she thought that since she’d been so forward with his pleasuring, he should technically be the one taking charge with hers. He seemed to realise this conclusion and stuttered.

“Erm…Can we start with…” He pointed weakly at her breasts and she nodded breathlessly. Scooting closer, he reached out a hand which then resumed its earlier task. Very quickly, Hermione groaned and arched her back up, taking her bra off and throwing it away. Ron had to take a moment just to stare and make her blush before she nudged him into continuing; it felt so much better on her bare skin. When confident that he was doing that right, he inched his mouth down to her skin, placing small kisses across her chest before taking a hardened nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. Hermione groaned deeply, a hand plunging into his hair, massaging his scalp erratically as her other hand fisted the towel, legs squirming and quaking. Encouraged by her shivers, he began licking and moved to the other breast, hoping that his tongue didn’t feel as sloppy as it seemed to him and trying to concentrate. As she grew louder, his hand ghosted down her stomach and hovered by her middle before he palmed her through her knickers. He couldn’t hear his own groan over hers but he felt all the blood returning to his cock at the feel of how wet she was. This was the hottest thing he’d ever known and he couldn’t quite believe that he was doing it. Taking the plunge, he reached for her waistband only to have a hand curl around his wrist; he glanced up, fearing he’d done something wrong, but seeing the insecurity in her eyes, he knew that he had to step up. She was mumbling about not shaving and blushing. Confident that what he wanted to say would be the right thing to say, he shifted himself so he could see her face properly and said seriously, earnestly.

“Hermione. You’re so beautiful.” She was completely taken by surprise. Ron didn’t compliment her, he just didn’t; well, he sometimes did, but always in a back-handed way or in jest so she didn’t know if he was being serious. But now, his sparkling blue eyes staring intently into her own, she knew without a shadow of a doubt his intentions; he went on and she could hardly believe that it was really him talking. “You’re just incredible; so warm and kind and, and sexy and well, just–” He cut himself off before continuing hurriedly, a look of worry creeping into his features. “Look, I haven’t found the right words yet but when I do I swear I’ll tell you.” Hermione rose up and kissed him, stilling his mumbles; it had been so sweet and romantic and so Ron. No matter what happened next, this day was the best of her life so far. Breaking apart and lying back down, she had to fight back tears as he whispered. “Just let me do this for you.” Her hand let go of his and breathing in deeply he journeyed back down her and with more pluckiness than he felt, pulled down her last article of clothing. There were those little brown curls again, he never wanted to lose sight of them.

His fingers found her centre and were immediately coated with her juices, both of them shivered violently. Hermione’s toes curled as Ron gulped and ran his fingers up and down her deep red stretch of flushed sex. Resisting the urge to dip his head down and taste her, he tried to find the thing she’d mentioned earlier, not knowing exactly where it was meant to be but guessing it was in there somewhere . All the while as he explored her with his fingers she writhed and began to gasp with growing volume. His thumb found a small bump which made her half-scream.

“There!” She shouted, twisting in pleasure as he tried to keep his head and pressed on it again; watching her in astonishment. He’d finally made Hermione lose control, her body arching and twitching in pure ecstasy, her face flushed and hair wild, she looked the sexiest she’d ever been. Ron felt dizzy as he picked up the pace of his thumb strumming her clit and stroked a nipple with the other at the same speed, sensing that the two would bring her over the edge. With a long and high-pitched cry Hermione came, her stomach contracting and whole body shaking. Retracting his fingers and rolling onto his back, Ron had to take himself out and pump a few times before exploding with a roar.

…

Slowly, the pair’s breathing calmed to almost-normal. Hermione felt a rush of happiness radiate through her chest and up to her head, lifting up the corners of her mouth whilst Ron tried not to fall into a happy slumber. Coughing, Hermione sat up achingly, exhausted but now fully grinning, and looked down on her favourite person in all the world. His eyes opened and there was such emotion swimming in them that they could only stare at each other before he sat up too. Neither spoke, words the most inadequate they’d ever been, they only helped each other up before cleaning themselves up and reaching for their clothes. It was without hurry or embarrassment that they got dressed, the friendship barrier completely destroyed, though they avoided look too long at each other, too tired to contemplate doing anything more. Finally, Ron shouldered his broom and Hermione stepped towards him, her warm brown eyes connecting with his again.

“Well, we’ve a lot to talk about.” He laughed at her matter-of-fact opener and got breathless as he took her hand experimentally. She beamed, fingers closing around his and wordlessly they promised to talk properly later.

Together, they walked back to the castle; feeling bare, but safe.


End file.
